


Bound

by Anonymous



Category: The Folk of the Air - Holly Black
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst, Panic Attacks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rope Bondage, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24441001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Jude ties Cardan up, again.
Relationships: Jude Duarte/Cardan Greenbriar
Kudos: 62
Collections: Anonymous





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> See endnotes for specific warning regarding use of safe word.

“If anything hurts, you will tell me. If any part of you starts to tingle or go numb, you will tell me.”

“Yes, Jude.”

“Now kneel.”

Cardan obeys her command as surely as if he were compelled. The layers and layers of blankets upon his royal bed cushion his knees as Jude begins her work, standing next to the bed. She wraps the rope around his forearms first, which he holds together behind his back. The soft black cord makes four or five loose loops that don’t place pressure on the tendons in his wrists. Watching her deeply focused on a task, the sleeves of her navy blouse rolled to the elbow, is arousing all on its own, doubly so when the task is him. 

The arrangement between them is based in free will. She orders him, true, but it’s his choice to heed her. No promises have been exchanged, no bargains made. She does not possess his real name (he offered it to her once, in a moment of wine-soaked sentimentality, but she gently refused him). Even their marriage vows have an escape clause built-in. A dynamic with no coercion involved was foreign to him before Jude, and perhaps he ought to feel foolish for laying himself at her mercy like this. But the trust is so rich and exquisite that he wonders if he even knew what trust was, until now.

The dynamic is longstanding, but this particular activity is new. A fortnight ago they experimented with tying Cardan to the bedposts, and they both loved it, so Jude did some research on other, more creative ways to bind him. On more than one night, she didn’t even come to bed with him, she was so absorbed in reading old anatomy texts and torture handbooks by candlelight. She woke up early to search Mandrake Market for a suitably strong, unscratchy rope, which she got in exchange for an ornate hair clip. He suspects, but can’t confirm, that she even went to the Undersea to learn knots from drowned sailors. 

She winds the cord once, twice, then thrice around his bare chest, pinning his upper arms to his sides, then loops it back through to pull the arm loops taut and secure. The extra weight of his arms increases the tension and friction across his chest. Jude stands in front of him, at the foot of the bed, and places her hand on his leg. 

“Still okay?”

“Yes, Jude.”

His wife is a fearsome creature, yet he’s never so at ease as when she’s in control. She uses her sword and her sharp mind and her silken lies to protect him, never to harm him. In time, even her terrifying ability to lie had become less so; there were often clues in her voice, her eyes, her mannerisms. Every power had its vulnerabilities, he found. 

She forbade him from drinking wine before this scene, which he bristled at, at first, but she was right. Even sober, he feels a floaty sensation start to cloud the edges of his vision. If she were able, he would almost suspect she glamoured him. A gentle euphoria he’d seen all too often in his brother’s servants at Hollow Hall, but never expected to feel himself. 

But it’s not magic; it’s the exclusivity of her attention on him, her care for him, that makes it so intoxicating. His wife is constantly enacting a dozen schemes, manipulating a hundred people, juggling a thousand problems. But here, now, her sole focus is on him. The feeling of safety and love is unlike anything he’s ever felt. No one has ever cared for him thus. 

The bite of the rope in his chest and arms feels steadying, as if she herself were holding him up. He’s gotten close to this point in other scenes, but never this quickly and never this fully. 

“I’m going to start on your legs now.”

Cardan nods, past words. Jude must see the state he’s in, because she smiles, then leans over the bed and kisses him. Her mouth is hot and hard and punishing, like the rest of her, but he can taste her genuine affection, too. He drinks it in like wine. With his lips and his tongue, he feeds her his trust and devotion, hoping it nourishes her just as much. He’ll never be sick of this, of her, never, never, never. 

“You’re doing so well. So tame for me.” 

He flushes under her praise. Jude’s careful hands pass the rope under his calf, nudging him so she can reach, then crosses it in figure-eights up to his pale thigh. When the basic design is laid in place, she slowly pulls it taut so that he’s forced down to sit on his heels, his one leg bent in half and immobilized. It’s constricting, but not uncomfortable. 

Jude stops to consider a moment and traces a pattern in the air with her finger. Her appraising gaze makes Cardan’s skin heat even more. Then she winds the rope around the narrowest part of his waist, brushing his bare skin with her fingers as she went, and anchored the tension in his first leg before starting to loosely wrap the second one. 

When Jude pulls the loops on his other leg tight so that both legs are immobilized, his feeling of pleasant surrender starts to take on a dark flavor. He feels suddenly much too exposed, too vulnerable, endangered. His breath grows ragged. He’s back in that awful night he can barely remember, tied to a chair in the Court of Shadows’ lair, helpless, terrified, waiting for his fate to be sealed. The shame of being passed out drunk while his whole family was murdered, of not being able to protect them or himself. There’s a plan for this; he has a safe word, but he can’t get it out; he can’t even speak, his breath is coming in sobs, his heart is pounding. Jude pulls her knife out of her belt and swiftly cuts him free from the ropes, first his legs, then his arms and torso. As soon as his arms are free, he clings to her. His tail curls between his legs. He’s usually much more reserved with his emotions, but Jude has broken down his barriers so effectively that he has no recourse to conceal them now. 

“Cardan, Cardan, easy,” she murmurs. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” She crawls onto the bed, boots and all, and gently pulls him back against the carved headboard into her arms. She holds him loosely, careful not to constrict him anymore, and pulls an embroidered coverlet over them both. The dynamic is over now. 

Jude reaches over to grab a glass of water that’s waiting on the bedside table, and offers it to him. He takes a few sips, then rests his head back on her shoulder. He closes his eyes and exhales, long and unsteady, but more easily. 

Jude is whispering into his hair, “Don’t worry, everything is fine, you were so good.” 

In their time together, he’s learned to be attentive to her tone over her exact words. Mortal speech, inexact and gestural as it is, ought to be treated more like music than a contract, so he lets himself be carried along by the comforting cadence of her voice, without paying particular attention to her words. He dozes against her, his body heavy and warm under the blankets.

“Have another sip of water,” she says, and it’s a suggestion this time, not an order. He does it anyway, then sinks back down into her arms. 

“I’ve got cheese and almonds here, too, when you’re ready. It’d be good to get some protein in you,” she says. Jude always takes special care in making sure he’s well-fed after a scene. It touches Cardan for reasons he can’t quite explain. He takes an almond to make her happy, but it goes down his throat dry and dusty. 

“I’ll have more later,” he reassures her. 

“I’ll find another way for you to use the safeword, in the future. Maybe an acorn you can drop, or something,” she says, and her voice is tender, like an apology. 

Cardan nods against her shoulder, still sleepy and emotionally drained. She’s not telling him that she feels guilty. Which makes him feel a little guilty. 

“The first part of that was amazing, in case you couldn’t tell,” he says. “Nonetheless, I think losing movement in my legs is going to be a limit for me.” 

“Because of me,” she says unhappily. “The night of Dain’s coronation, when I kidnapped you and tied you to a chair.”

“A lot of things happened that night,” he says. It’s technically truthful. 

“I didn’t think it affected you much,” Jude says. She knows to treat his verbal sidestep as confirmation, of course; he was foolish to think it might placate her. “You were laughing and playing cards when I got back.”

“I survive by playing to my strengths,” he says quietly. “Same as you.” 

They lapse into silence for a moment. Her warm fingers brush over the rope indentations on his back, and he shivers. He’s about ready to drop the subject and eat another almond, but something is still bothering him.

“I told you everything that night,” he says, only a half-accusation, and shifts to look up at her. “You knew I was desperate.” Confused. Frightened. Lost. Grieving. She knew all of that. Why is she acting surprised?

“I preferred to believe that you were manipulating me,” she says. That is what he was hoping not to hear. That is the part that is still scary to Cardan, that humans can not only lie, but lie to themselves and actually believe it. 

“I sold myself into your service,” he says. “Weren’t my actions evidence enough?”

“They should have been. I was blind to many things, back then. I’m sorry, Cardan.” Jude looks into his eyes and offers the apology as if it costs her nothing. This, more than anything, is a balm to his old wounds. Jude’s pride nearly equals his own. An admission of remorse, freely given, is rare for her. She means it. 

“Don’t be,” he sighs, and holds her closer. After all, her actions that night likely saved his life, and set in motion the chain of events that led to their marriage and co-rulership of Elfhame. Her mistrust of him was a small cost to pay, and it was mended in due time. 

After a minute, a small, wicked smile creeps across her face. There are times when she nearly passes for one of the Folk. “Can I be a little bit sorry?”

Cardan knows where she’s headed. He props himself up on one elbow, some of his teasing energy returning. “What will you offer me in return, if I say yes?”

“A bargain, then!” she says, and leaps off the bed. “Oh, High King of Elfhame!” she declares in her finest courtly diction, curtsying deeply. “I have come to beseech your leave to feel a little bit sorry for my past misdeeds and mistrust. And in return, I offer your Majesty... one blowjob to completion at the time and place of your choosing, excepting occasions where it would cause major diplomatic incidents.” 

“Very well, my Queen,” he says, matching her regal tone. “I accept your terms; the bargain is struck. However, it won’t do for one liege of Elfhame to remain indebted to the other. Therefore I call upon you to pay your debt now, and let us speak of it no further.” 

“As you wish, my King,” she says, and the look she gives him makes everything, _everything,_ worth it. 

**Author's Note:**

> tw: Cardan has a panic attack and is unable to use his safe word, but the scene ends immediately and he receives good aftercare. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any and all comments welcome.


End file.
